Choosing Life
by morebones
Summary: "There's a moment when she feels that she's got nothing left. But then, she lives again." Another fic based on the Season Finale's promos. Spoilers&Speculation. Oneshot.


**A/N:** _At first, despite being a long time fan, I was quite ok with things as they were happening on the show and had never really needed Castle fics. Not even after S3 finale. I was ok with the books & spoilers. But this season's been different: From ep 10 on, the show was not (near) enough and I craved for more. So I got lost on the ficdom. Writing's been just the next logic step, because who could resist the epicness of the promos and the sneaks? Not me. I just can't wait for Monday._

_I couldn't find a beta to take a look at this to have it published before Monday, so I apologize in advance for any errors you may find. If you spot them and are willing to share for other readers' benefit, my PM box is open; I'll gladly fix them. _

_This is sheer speculation about the **SF**, made of pure **spoilers** (up until Sneak Peek 5)._

_**Disclaimer**: Only the laptop is mine, and the poor thing has some keys missing. _

* * *

**..**

**Choosing Life**

**..**

There's a moment when she feels she's got nothing left.

No job, no partner, no hope.

But then, she lives again.

* * *

She'd had the mother of all fights with Castle after she discovered that not only had he been withholding information, but had also made a deal for her life. As if he had some predicament on that. As if he had the right! Except that maybe he had. He has. _He has the right to try to keep you safe because he loves you,_ her mind had told her then, and several times since, as it replayed his words during that fight (_"I love you, Kate. If that means anything to you, if you care a little about me, please don't do this."). _She knows she shouldn't have been so angered about it, that he was only looking for her safety. That she had also failed him. Still is. But… What was he thinking? Hiding new leads, talking to strangers, bargaining with something that is hers, her cause. Does he have to be so… _What, Kate, protective?, _her brain supplies. _That's not precisely bad. _But she's more than capable of defending herself. Isn't she?

As if on cue, a sharp pain on the round little scar over her sternum reminds her that it's not completely true. She died in front of him. He… He saw her die. And he loves her. She can only imagine how that must have felt. She knows beyond doubt that if the positions were reversed, she would have done the same.

Still, it was her mom's case… She _can't_ not be mad. Even if he did it out of love and without asking anything on return.

So, after that, it was just she and the boys.

But next she'd quit her job in a whim when Gates scolded her for following the lead she was sure would take them to her mother's killer (through her own sniper), forbidding her from getting anywhere near the files of the case, and threatening her with suspension if she didn't comply.

She was spiraling out of control, she knew that much. But without her partner to hold her, there was only chaos left, and the sensation of now-or-never. The possibility of answers (and yes, also revenge, she can't lie to herself) was glimmering in front of her at the verge of materializing itself after all those years of being just a ghost. She just couldn't let this authoritarian captain of theirs stop her when she had been so close that could almost grasp it. And if Gates thought for a moment that she could halt her mission (her hunt?) quoting regulations and reminding her of her duties and competency as a detective, she'd never been so wrong; she is no Montgomery. And that thought alone was enough to send Kate over the edge, unable to contain the pain and the sorrow and the loss. And the guilt.

She threw her badge on the captain's desk, along with her issued gun and left the precinct.

And it was just her.

* * *

She may have thought she was close (closer?) to break her mother's case, but now, after all that happened in the past hours, she knows better. It had been smoke, once again.

When they got the lead on her sniper, she thought she was on control, that she could take it. She was not alone. She'd go step by step, carefully, looking over her shoulder - more than she does usually, anyway. But soon it all had gone south. She felt betrayed and broken and lost, so she'd betrayed Castle's love and his team's trust and pursued it with everything she had, automatically, on impulse, like a lion goes for its prey, out of instinct. Because if she stayed put now, all the work (her lost past) would've been in vain. It was her opportunity to make her past life serve her purpose (her life as she'd lived it since her mother's murder) and make a last effort on what have defined her until today.

But it was not only her (and her mom) anymore. There were (are) too many people involved, too many lives threatened by her obsession. And she just can't allow it. She may have thought that she had not much to loose before, but now it's different. She feels different.

* * *

She'd almost died. That fight on the roof was not pretty. She can't recall the times she got hit, how she was knocked and banged and beaten in general. Or how she kicked back with all she had. She can only remember her survival instincts acting, the struggle, the need to battle; hardly the pain (God blesses adrenaline). It had been hell. And when she found herself suspended on the air, only three fingers grasping her to the ledge, tethering her to life, she looked straight up and saw the blue sky. And it was just as blue as that day in the cemetery, and all she could think of were those words uttered when she was dying then. _"I love you, Kate"._

Her scars started to burn harshly, probably just a somatic reaction to her thoughts, and she chose to live. Again. She swayed, gulping the pain so that she fell on the fire scape several inches to her right. She looked up, wondered about her attacker (just another puppet) and gave up. A tear escaped at the realization that this could have been her last opportunity. That she had no energy left.

So now she thinks she may be finally able to put an end of it. She's not happy about it; she's not near forgetting, or forgiving, for that matter. And it hurts. God, it hurts. But she understands she has to let go. She really, really understands it now. It's not like before, when the knowledge of the harm the case was causing on her was not processed by her brain to the extent of its consequences; when she was conscious of the wall and of the life she was missing while hiding underneath, and the advisability of working to tear it down, but still couldn't move a finger to prevent herself of getting drawn to it.

And the fall was harder every time.

It's true that she hadn't touched the case since she'd promised Castle to leave it, but she knew it was only temporary. _For now_, they had said. For now. The fact that it was just a parenthesis of some kind, allowed her to accept it then. It'd give her the time to recover from her scars, not only the ones marking her skin, all of them, to be in full capacity when the time came.

But the therapy had really worked, ironically. She has been rediscovering herself bit by bit. Retracing her steps, picking the pieces, recovering the fragments of herself that were scattered all over and she just hid under the carpet of her mother's murder. Perfect curtain, life dedicated to solve murders so that one more was not a big deal.

She's perfectly aware now that she was consumed by her own fears and that she used the ghost of her mother's murder to avoid confronting. She just went through life, but didn't live at all.

In the event the case finds her (them) again, because, some lead (another contract killer; another dirty cop; another mystery man…) may appear any time, probably when least expected and in the less opportune moment, they'll pursue it, of course, but just as any other case. She's not found closure, but she's come to a halt. And she's ok with it. She can settle for that. Not only for now. For the time needed.

She chooses life. Her life. She may have been watching from the sidelines this past year (healing, from a safe place), but now, she's not only ready, but willing to participate.

With baggage, but with a horizon, a real future (no matter if gloomy or bright, just a future) before her. With the crumbles of her past still on her feet making it difficult to walk straight but with a path to walk anyway. And maybe those stones that fell from her wall can be used to pave her way.

* * *

That's why now she stands in front of her mother's grave and chokes on her own words.

"I'm sorry, mom." She is. And this time she's not asking for forgiveness for letting her down in finding her murderer, or about not being able to uncover the intricate conspiracy revolving around it. This is a daughter asking for forgiveness for having failed on the only thing a mother wants for her children, living and finding happiness. She's ashamed. She shouldn't have to be here, shaking off the demons of her shoulder. Telling herself that what she'd been doing is the right thing to do. She knows it is. She knows her mom would be proud of the strong woman she is, but also sad (and disappointed) that she's been living under the shadow of her death, not celebrating her - prematurely truncated - life. "I'll be better. I'll live the life you'd have wanted for me. I'll let your life guide me, not your death." She sobs. "It's difficult, you know. All this time I thought I'd let you down if I didn't find answers. But… I was just being… selfish, I guess. It was me who needed the answers. I…I know that's not a bad thing… needing closure. I just guess I… I didn't know how to stop. It was easier to let your murder govern my life than having to live a life without you… Then it was harder and harder to find the line. It was too scary to think of taking the next step on my own."

"But I'll try. I'll… figure it out. I promise."

"Love you, mom."

As she leaves, she feels at the same time empty and content. She is not sure that she knows how to be without the pain and the sorrow and the dark past propelling her; but she is certain now that she's more than that, that she wants more, and that she, not only deserves it, but can get it.

However, her life is like a blank page now. Nothing on it. Not a word. She wanders around the city, without a real direction, avoiding her previous hiding places, her apartment, the precinct and suppressing the urge to just present herself on his loft.

She sees them, the swings. Like driven by a superior force she walks toward them, absently, while drops of rain start to fall around her. She sits, and just sobs. It's all too much all too sudden. The fear, the loss, the love, the hopelessness… It's like being hung in a cliff, on that building again. The natural fear she's been suppressing the whole day fear is finally getting to her, and it doesn't come alone, it strikes forcefully with the anxiety for her future, for her situation (unemployed and without the driving force that was her mom's case), and with the concern for the ones she loves. And the grief for the ones that she's lost. The sense of loss so big it hurts physically, beyond the hole in her skin, a real hole on her soul. She looks up and there's no blue sky anymore. It's gotten grey and she can't avoid picking up on the irony. There's no one that can help her but herself. It's her move. And that's the thing. She gets to move.

The scarce drops of before have turned into a downpour and she can't tell if the water rolling down her cheeks are tears anymore. Her clothes have already dampened and she's cold. She shivers, the chill waking her up from her musings.

She gets to move. She _has_ a move. She's not alone.

* * *

The ground is already wet and her heeled boots splash on the water pools scattered on the pavement. She hurries as if she was running away, and maybe she is (running away from her past), but she prefers to think that she's running toward her future. And she can't wait to get there. The grey streets of the island guide her smoothly to her destination, the one she's been boycotting for too long now. Her chance at happiness.

Her chance at "Always".

She is oblivious to the people watching her, some amused, some puzzled, but all sheltered from the heavy rain, while she runs the final meters of her path, impatient. Now that she's made her mind she doesn't want to delay it anymore. No more waiting. No more "Enough for now."

She wants it all. From him. Of him.

She dashes through the hall, to the elevator, along the hallway of his floor and stands finally (finally) in front of his door. If the case hadn't interfered on their lives the day before, she could have been already inside, on his couch, watching that John Woo minimarathon she almost auto invited herself to. Things would've been different. She'd be dry, for instance. She'd be warm. But she'd still be that boiling pot of emotions looking for the safest place to hide, for the nearest way out; waiting for the next thing to trigger the explosion.

Now she knows she wants no way out.

As she pounds (not knocks) on his door she's sure she'll do anything to make him stay. To make him hers.

* * *

He opens the door and she launches herself to him, desperately, needy and shameless, abandoning herself to him. He receives her, with surprise, and as her frozen hands cradle his face and her lips attack his lips, he just gives in.

They kiss with the passion they put in everything else and let the so long repressed craving for each other run wild.

And it's all pants and bites and gasps and nips, and noses bumping and crashing teeth and tongues… Oh, tongues… Until they feel so consumed by the hunger they have to stop. And breathe. They don't move, though, they just press their foreheads together and breathe each other's air.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. " She whispers. "You are more… you are much more than a partner… You…" She closes her eyes unable to continue. She's on the verge of tears again, or maybe she's already crying, because Castle's thumbs are sweetly wiping the moisture on her cheeks.

"Shhh… It's ok." He murmurs before taking her closer to him in a tight hug. _No, it's not_, she thinks. But he is holding her on her arms and his heart is beating rhythmically with hers and she just fits so perfectly there that maybe she believes him. "We'll figure it out."

She nods on her chest as he strokes her damp hair.

He smells like him and it feels so good that she's got to taste him, so she moves her head up a bit and grazes his neck with her teeth. She feels him gulp and smiles, nestling on his shoulder and delighting on the warmth of his embrace.

It takes her all the limited strength she's got left to move apart from his safety. She notices him turning rigid and tightening the grip on her hips. She slides her hands through his arms until she senses him relaxing again, and then lets them rest on his chest.

He's waiting, steady. Not pushing but not retreating either.

She breathes and smiles a slow smile, eyes full of fear despite being oozing love.

"I love you." She mutters, savoring each word.

The grin that appears on his face makes her feel grounded and like flying at the same time. And what a wonderful feeling. It's scary, yes, but she wouldn't want not to feel it. Not anymore. She brings her hand to his face and lets her fingers linger, stroking softly his cheekbone sensing the rough unshaved skin. "So much."

He presses his face into her hand and covers it with his own, trying to create a mark, a trace of her on him, or of him on her. A memory.

He grasps her hand and steps back, tugging and carrying her with him.

"Come on; let's get you out of those wet clothes." He says sweetly. She chuckles and arches an eyebrow, and he just looks at her intently, taking her in.

This feels so right…

He leans his head a bit and moves his own eyebrows up playfully, giving a completely different meaning to his previous words; she purses her lips and tries to roll her eyes. But it's futile, because her mouth curves in a beautiful bright smile, and he's so grateful that she's ok, that she's there with him, holding his hand, letting him take care of her that he has problems convincing himself that it's not a dream.

But her now warmer fingers are intertwining with his and the grip is solid and caring and real.

As real as life.

(Perhaps, as love)

.

* * *

_If you made it to the end, please, let me know what you think. I don't usually beg, but being my first time in this fandom, I find it justified, even more if you take into account that English is not my first language. So, please? Say something? *Smiles hopefully*_


End file.
